Phantasmegoria
by Yasha the Shadow Keeper
Summary: Piccolo and Tien, both strong with their third eye, discover the spirit of a tortured girl whose able to astral project only through self mutilation. But her soul becomes subject to torment as she drags things back from the astral plane. Possible OC pairi


I do NOT own DBZ or any characters related to DBZ. I do, however, own the OC that shows up.. As I add more chapters, this won't be at the top because I believe it's sufficient enough to have this stated in the beginning of my story.

**PHANTASMEGORIA**

_Chapter 1_

_Phantasos_

The bathroom was tiled and white, the bright color making it appear larger, more sterile than what it really was. The large, ivory squares were cold, making pale feet go numb, even as steam from the running shower poured past a plastic curtain and made the air sticky and hott. The rushing sound of the shower head drowned out muffled sobs. Picking up a metal bottle cap, frail fingers skated it across a cicatrix-riddled arm in a form of desperation. The surface bubbled angrily and red beads began to slip from the nick. Eyes clenched tightly shut, thick eyelashes clumped with moisture; the action was repeated several times.

The sound of the shower became white noise; the bottle cap clattering against the tile seemed to resonate like a hub-cap tossed from a tire, played back in slow motion. Twin drops of blood sailed into a sea of solid white, their impact like thunder, like the slow thunder of her heart. _Thu-thud…thu-thud…thu-thud..._ until even her heart seemed to slow and finally….stop.

And then, she was soaring.

His mind was tamed. His breathing slowed. He kept a steady rhythm to his breathing. Breathe in for 7, hold for 4, and breathe out for 7. He repeated this exercise for several minutes, until the motion of the world was suffocated, until nothing existed but his breathing. 7…..4….7…. Finally, the world itself melted away, and his subconscious was free from all mortal ties. He imagined a beam of light hitting his temple, shooting through his being, downs his spine and finally, into the Earth. In this light, he filtered his thoughts, the negative forces, tension, anxiety, regret, hate, loneliness…he channeled all of these thoughts into the light, in which it was purified. And then……he wasn't alone…

He opened his eyes, or rather, he opened his mind's eyes, and searched in the vast darkness of this inner universe. A form appeared, smoky at first, but gaining more mass as he concentrated. Anxiety tightened his jaw as he tried to will the form to become clearer. It was phantom, bathed in a self-emitted white glow. It took on the shape of a girl, her hair long and flowing upward like a fan billowing it up in slow-motion, strangely reminiscent of rolling clouds or a rippling in a pond. Her eyes were blindfolded and blood tainted the cloth and ran down her cheeks like crimson tears. Her face was neutral, and yet her presence came with such a harkening sorrow that it gripped his chest like a fist around his chest. Her hands were outstretched to him, reaching at a slight downward angle. Even though her frame was small, and she couldn't be taller than 5 and a half feet, she reached down to him, which must have meant she was floating…

As if by instinct, he lifted his arm. It seemed like gravity had became so present in the astral realm that his arm felt like it was being weighed down by lead weights. He kept it outstretched to her, his fingers spread and reaching. In what seemed to be an hour, her floating finally came close enough so that her fingertips brushed his. It sent a shiver down his spine, but he didn't cringe, nor hesitate. Finally his fingers brushed her palms, and he felt a lump of thin scars on them. Her fingers weren't as long as his, so her fingers hadn't quite reached his own palm. When they had, he saw a glimpse of white, and images passed in his mind like subliminal messaging.

White… total white. Then a screaming face with its eyes gouged out, pulling hair and scratching down dirt-ridden cheeks. The white, vastitude returned to sight. Then red fell into it, two scarlet raindrops falling into a pool of milk. And soon she was there too, her back facing him.

He waded through the white liquid, and it seemed to part like something less than water. The two red drops gave off a foreboding energy and he hesitated. They had fallen, but didn't splash up, or mingle with the milky ocean. They were two, perfect drops of red. A ripple resonated from his form and broke the bonds that kept the red from mingling with the white.

Breaking, they dispersed like dye in water, but instead of finally fading or blending, they reached smoky arms like tendons over the water. They started to climb over her form, and were suddenly something far more macabre, far more sinister than they originally appeared. They enveloped her form like a body of sinews, pulsing and beating as if it were a large nervous system, its veins tangling in her long black hair.

She never screamed and was suddenly pulled under by the large, sentient mass. He sloshed through the milk to reach the spot where she had been pulled under, but the sinews had returned to their liquid, misty conditions.

He searched with wide eyes, a feeling of desperation overcoming him, his senses screaming to save her. Eventually, the red turned pink and finally faded into the never ending white sea. He could hear his blood rushing through his veins; he was filled with some strange purpose not even known to him.

Suddenly, she began to resurface, the crown of her black hair slowly being borne from the milk, clumping the dark locks together. Her head was hung, and the process was agonizingly slow, but the feeling to not touch her was overwhelming, and only the urgency of his cryptic purpose kept him in place. Her pale shoulders emerged, and he took note that her skin was the exact color of the milk with a slight, purple-blue tinge, almost like a victim of drowning. As the milk bore her forth like a child, he also noted that she was completely nude, but sexless, the milk hitting her upper thighs just below where a nest of hair should have been masking reproductive parts. But there was no hair, there was no slit indicating her effeminacy, and no nipples perched on her small breasts.

She slowly raised her head, her eyes wide open, but they were black, reflecting the darkness of the universe. Looking into them was like drowning in ink, and it felt like cold pudding was being poured into his head and filling him down to his shoes. His voice sounded clear, but did not echo as he expected, a deep, baritone voice.

"Who are you…?"

She opened her mouth a small fraction and a humming sound emitted, like static. The water rippled. He concentrated. It sounded like there were words mixed in with the constant buzz, but the milk started to lap up against him in larger waves. He reached out to her but was thrown back by a wave large enough to tip a boat.

Suddenly, he was drowning, his legs kicking insanely. His eyes were opened but all he saw was white. Panic began to overtake him as his lungs burned with the need for air. He fell quiet, realizing he was still in the astral plane and willed himself back to the darkness. In the astral realm, mind was the body, and willing it so would make it so. He hushed his thoughts of panic and breathed in for 7… no milk filled his nostrils, so he continued to breathe.

When he was back to the darkness, he heard a susurrus, and realized she was whimpering. He opened his eyes and she was still floating in front of him, but his fingers were wrapped around hers. She was holding his hand with her free one, rubbing his knuckles against her cheek. She was sobbing quietly, whispering words he couldn't understand. Her form started to fade and with her last breath, she whispered for help to overcome…

His eyes flew open and his breathing was ragged. He grabbed his hand to his chest, feeling as though he was choking, gurgling. Bending over, he wretched violently, a white, milky substance pouring from his mouth in large heaves. When he was done, he wiped his mouth with the back of his green hand, and stood a while in thought, running over what happened in his meditation….He… he had drowned…..in milk… He stared down at the pool of white that had splattered on the green, green grass.

He then looked at his hand where the phantom woman had touched him, his fingers tingling like they were about to fall asleep. Looking up at the sky, the waxing moon was bright on his emerald face. A voice deep in his thoughts, a voice that didn't belong to him, but a part of him, whispered.

_Piccolo… what will you do? _

He didn't know what to do….or how to do it. He knew she was real, knew she was in need of help, and that she called out to him, of all people. But at the same time, his logic side was arguing that he was delusional. He shoved that small murmur of doubt aside.

Perhaps it was because he was so strong in astral projecting, and that he was sensitive enough to be tapped by her… He didn't know why, or how, but he was filled with an arcane purpose, and arcane need to help her. If she was a seeker, and she asked him, then he would go to her; even though he was not entirely sure as to why other than his semi-psychic abilities… in which case she should have gone to the earth's natural destined psychic and empathy, Dende. Or better yet... the man with the strongest third eye in the world, Tien….

He didn't know. He knew very little about the situation, but it was serious enough, real enough that something needed to happen. He glanced at the white puddle again, as if to make sure he wasn't driven into insanity, and partly to hush his doubting side that it was all just a strange dream… but it was still there, soaking into the cold ground. A sob echoed in his head, choking a last word: _'Please'_… before fading, leaving his face cold and wet with sorrow and fear that wasn't his own. Piccolo lifted his hand and wiped away tears, but they weren't his own either.

End Chapter

_A/N: Ok. It's been about 3 years since I've written fan fiction and I'd like to give the author, Crying Raven, and her story, "Untamed" a great amount of thanks for inspiring me to start writing again. Hopefully, all my old friends from and I can have as great of relationships as we used to, and hopefully make more. I'm very excited about this particular fic, so I will probably have the chapters coming up fast. I might also start getting up some more chapters to my other fics, especially 'From Hell' since I had it originally mapped out to 40+ chapters. _

_The title of this chapter, "Phantasos" refers to one of the __Oneiroi__, or the sons of Hypnos and rulers of Dreams. Phantasos, sometimes misspelled as Phantasus ("apparition", hence fantasy or Phantasmagoria), was the brother of Morpheus ("He who forms/shapes/molds) and Phobetor ("Frightening." Hence "phobia"; also called Icelus). Phantasos was a god that was responsible for inanimate objects in dreams and/or tricky or unreal dreams. I gave the name of this chapter 'Phantasos' respectively because Piccolo is confused from his vision. This is just an explanation, and I hope that in later chapters you can find the connection of the title and the plot on your own._

_Please review and let me know if I have any errors that ruin it all…_


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